


Haikyuu!! Sickfics 2

by kuromantic



Series: Haikyuu Sickfics [2]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Asthma, Caretaking, Coughing, Fever, Fluff, Headaches & Migraines, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Sibling Bonding, Sickfic, Stomach Ache, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-17
Updated: 2020-08-17
Packaged: 2020-10-20 13:21:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 12,526
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20676059
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kuromantic/pseuds/kuromantic
Summary: You want sick characters? You get sick characters.





	1. Akaashi, sickfic

Akaashi winces as spots of black and white appear in the corners of his eyes. He’d anticipated it coming for the whole week, but having to face it is a different matter. He blinks away the spots, rubbing on his lids. 

He needs to head to practice. Bokuto and the others are waiting for his tosses.

“Akaashi~!”

Bokuto greets him, steps light and jolly. His movements are extra wild today, signalling that he’s having a bubbly mood. Akaashi doesn’t want to ruin it, for the sake of his teammates.

“C’mon! Practice, practice!”

Akaashi’s head starts to ache slightly, but he pushes past it. It’s just a small inconvenience that he can work right past. “All right, Bokuto-san.” He nods, grabbing the ball crate and taking out the volleyballs.

A stab of pain hits him, and he groans into his palm. Bokuto doesn’t notice, luckily. He can still push past the pain, he tells himself, and throws the ball into the air.

“Hey hey hey! Bring it to me!” Bokuto motions with his hands, and spikes the ball right into the opposite side of the court. “Woo-hoo! Your tosses are the best, Akaashi!”

“Oi, oi, oi. He’s not just  _ your  _ Akaashi.” Konoha rolls his eyes. Akaashi needs to set for him too, as well as the other teammates. There’s one other first year setter, but the third years, more used to him, naturally flock to his side.

And so Akaashi prepares himself for another hard day of practice. He tosses to more people than he can keep track, and Bokuto is absolutely ruthless on his good days. His stamina simply doesn’t run out, and his moves only seem to improve with each spike and toss.

Unfortunately, Akaashi’s body does not work like Bokuto’s. His body is heavy, like a clunky suit of armour. He wants to lie down, but he can’t ruin practice just to spoil himself. He needs to be harder on himself, otherwise he’ll lose the discipline he’s taught himself.

“Hey hey! Akaashi!” Bokuto calls out to him, leaping into the air. The ace is there, demanding for a toss. And it’s his job as a setter to meet the demands of a player.

Akaashi reaches for the heavens, and tosses. “Bokuto-san!” He calls out, and Bokuto is there, slamming the ball against his hand. He lands just as the ball bounces on the floor.

At the same time, Akaashi feels a burst of pain in his head. It’s unlike anything he’s ever experienced before, and he falls to his knees, grimacing.

“Akaashi!!!”

Bokuto isn’t the world’s most observant or brightest person. But it’s obvious, even to him, that Akaashi isn’t in any condition to practice. Especially when he’s on the floor, groaning.

Akaashi’s head is pounding hard, each passing second only exacerbating the pain. The miragine twisting its way into his head makes everything worse, and he can feel the nausea starting up in the pit of his stomach.

He needs to get up. He needs to get up, and make his way to the bathrooms. Or anywhere quiet, really. The noise and lights are too much, and the back of his eyes feel too sensitive.

“You didn’t tell me you were sick!” Bokuto reaches out to pick him off the floor, but Akaashi shimmies away. He doesn’t need Bokuto’s help. He’s managed on his own, he always has. But the pain is intense, and  _ oh,  _ he’s definitely not going to make it to the bathroom.

A watery gurgle sounds at the back of his throat, and he brings his hand up to his mouth to try and stop the inevitable. It does about as little as using a sieve to catch water. 

Something splashes onto the court, and a mixture of disgusted and concerned sounds fill the gym. Akaashi blinks back tears, and heaves up another wave of foul-tasting vomit all over the floor and his t-shirt. His fingers are drenched with refuse, and it drips off his chin as he pitches forward and pukes on the floor.

Akaashi’s headache only worsens, after he’s emptied his stomach out right in the middle of practice. His mouth feels slimy and gross, and the squeezing in his head doesn’t help.

He’s abruptly interrupted when strong hands pull him out of his mess, and wipe his face with a small towel. “Akaashi, you okay? Do you still feel sick?” Bokuto asks, pressing his forehead onto Akaashi’s.

“It’s just a migraine. I’ll be all right.” Akaashi mutters, nestling into Bokuto’s shoulder. “I’m sorry, but can I have some spare clothes out of my bag?”

Konoha already has the clothes to hand to Akaashi. “Here. Don’t worry about the mess, we'll clean it before you feel sick again.”

Bokuto places his arms around and under Akaashi, picking him up as if he weighs nothing. “C’mon. Let’s get changed, yeah?” He whispers, stroking Akaashi’s hair tentatively. Akaashi chokes back his tears.

When they get to the club room, Akaashi opens his eyes that had been screwed shut. He feels sick to his stomach as well as the horrible headache, and he starts to sob quietly.

“It’s okay, it’s okay. You got any pain relief or something you wanna take?” Bokuto assists him in getting out of his t-shirt and putting on an oversized new one. 

“I don’t. It hurts.” Akaashi groans, sipping on the bottle of water Komi brought for him. “I just have to lie down…”

“Hey, don’t be upset. You’re gonna be okay, I’m right here for you.” Bokuto rocks him in his arms gently, taking care not to upset Akaashi’s stomach any further. “Good kid.”

Akaashi clutches Bokuto’s t-shirt, nestling his head into his chest. “You’re the best, Bokuto-san.” He murmurs.

Bokuto sets him down on a soft surface, content to watch over him as he rests. “Go to sleep, Akaashi! You’ll feel better!” 

He fondly rubs Akaashi’s head, whispering nonsense spells to help his headache get better. He places a kiss on Akaashi’s forehead lovingly. “I love you too.”


	2. Yamaguchi, stomach flu

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yamaguchi getting taken care of by Suga and Daichi, after he gets sick during practice.

With Kageyama, Hinata and Tsukishima away at camp, Yamaguchi is the only first year that’s left practicing in Karasuno High. He doesn’t mind it, really. It’s like that time when he was the only first year who wasn’t starting member. It does sting, but it’s no big deal.

It’s not like he’s completely useless. He’s racked up points during the match against Seijoh in the Spring High tournaments. He’s mastered the jump floater serve, that will surely be of good use during nationals. 

“Yamaguchi, nice serve!”

The third years encourage him extra hard, considering he’s the only first year left. He doesn’t feel too good about himself, despite all the praise and shoulder pats. There’s a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach, waiting to jump out at him. 

He practices his serves with Nishinoya, who receives them over half the time. He’s not sure if he’s getting worse, or Nishinoya is becoming better at reading him. But he knows he can’t stay like this. He needs to get better.

“Hey, Yamaguchi.” Daichi pats him on the shoulder, and he jolts. “We’re taking a break. Get some water.”

Yamaguchi sways on his feet, wiping off the sweat from his forehead. “Okay.” He nods, trotting over to the bench and grabbing his water bottle. He downs about half of the water, before setting it down with a wince.

His stomach feels weird after drinking the water. He rubs it gingerly through his clothes, and cringes at how bloated it feels.

With every spike and serve, Yamaguchi knows it’s getting worse. He thinks he can deal with it, but really, he’s not sure. Something presses against his throat, and he swallows hard.

“Can you hold the other side of this net?”

Sugawara calls out to him, and Yamaguchi lets out a sigh of relief. Practice is finally finishing up. He’d vehemently ignored the twinges of pain in his gut, chalking it up to stress. He can’t skip practice as the only present first year.

Yamaguchi steps over to the net, holding it steady as Sugawara folds it into a neat rectangle. “It’s pretty quiet without Kageyama and Hinata, isn’t it?”

Yamaguchi nods. He misses Tsukishima, of course, but it’s strange to be without Hinata’s hyper presence too. And the sound of Kageyama screaming about his receives.

“It really is…” Yamaguchi murmurs, muffling a hiccup with his fist. 

“You okay?” Sugawara asks him, without missing a beat. “You look pale. Are you feeling sick?”

Yamaguchi blinks out the tears from his eyes. “I’m okay,” he clutches his stomach, praying for the building pressure in his stomach to go away. “I-”

He doesn’t even get to finish his sentence, before a painful retch makes its way up his throat. It brings up a thick stream of vomit onto the court, and splatters around his feet.

“Someone, get a bucket!” Sugawara yells across the gym, making his way over to Yamaguchi and rubbing his back as he gags again. 

There are tears flowing down Yamaguchi’s eyes, now. His mouth is filled with a disgusting, slimy texture. He gags at the taste, and vomits so hard that some of it comes out of his nose.

“It’s all right, Yamaguchi.” Sugawara talks to him in a gentle, sweet tone. “I’m not going to let anything happen to you.”

Yamaguchi shakes his head. He feels horribly nauseous, and his stomach feels like someone is stabbing it with a blunt knife and twisting it around.

He sobs, standing in his soiled t-shirt. It’s an embarrassment, and a horrible way to end practice. He’s forcing his senpai to take care of him, in his disgusting state.

Daichi steps over to him as well, helping him out of his ruined clothes. “We’ll take you home after you get changed, okay?” He doesn’t let any disgust show, even though he surely must be grossed out.

Everything is happening too fast for Yamaguchi to react. He wipes his tears and puts on a new t-shirt, and Sugawara hands him his water bottle. “I’m sorry.” He swallows, blowing his nose and getting rid of the aftertaste.

“Don’t apologize. There’s no need.” Sugawara wraps him into a tender hug, taking care not to handle him too roughly. “Can you walk?”

Yamaguchi nods hurriedly. He’s dizzy and exhausted, but he can’t imagine himself letting the third years carry him, so he powers through it. “I think I should go home.”

“We’ll come with you.” Daichi holds out his hand. “I just want to make sure you get home safely.”

With a hesitant nod, Yamaguchi lets them accompany him on the road home.

And in hindsight, he’s so thankful.

He pitches forward with a hiccup every few minutes, and Daichi offers him his shoulder, concerned about how much he’s swaying about. Yamaguchi gives in and accepts the help, but is adamant on not throwing up. At least, not before he gets home.

A groan slips past his lips, his stomach cramping for the umpteenth time. He holds back the urge to gag, wiping the sweat from his neck.

“Hey. If you feel like you need to be sick, don’t hold it in.” Sugawara caresses his hair, his hand resting supportively on Yamaguchi’s shoulder. “You’ll feel better if you get it out, okay?”

Yamaguchi trembles, shaking his head. “I really don’t want to,” he pleads. “It hurts…”

He curls into himself, wrapping shaky arms around his abdomen. Every wave of pain sends a flash of nausea up his chest. His shoulders heave with the breaths he takes.

He takes two unsteady steps. There’s still ten minutes left in the journey, but he can’t possibly delay it any longer. He lurches forward with a sick-sounding belch, warm vomit dripping from his lips.

Daichi and Sugawara stop to comfort him as he throws up, rubbing his back and keeping his hair out of the way. Yamaguchi opens his mouth to tell them he’s fine and he can manage on his own, but a gurgle sounds at the back of his mouth, and a stream of bile splashes onto the ground.

Sugawara holds him steady while he vomits harshly, gently rubbing his stomach to ease the cramps. Yamaguchi lets out a whimper, sounding more pathetic than he looks. “It hurts..”

“I know,” Daichi comforts him, like he’s the youngest sibling. “I hope your stomach feels better soon.”

Yamaguchi places his arms around him, leaning onto him with his full weight. He can’t support himself anymore. He’s exhausted, and he’s reached his limit.

“Poor Yamaguchi.” Sugawara assists Daichi in holding Yamaguchi steady. “Let’s get him home.”


	3. Sugawara, sickfic drabble

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> request: suga throwing up in the sink while making dinner with Daichi.

There had been something rather off, ever since he’d woken up that morning. 

Suga isn’t the type to get sick easily. Nor does he get sick from an unpleasant sight or smell. Nothing can set him off. 

“Hey, Suga. Are you listening to me?”

Daichi shakes him lightly, as he realizes he’s stopped chopping the vegetables again. Odd, he usually never stops in the middle of a task before it’s finished. Especially with cooking.

“Huh?” Suga blinks, staring at the half-chopped pieces of carrot on the wooden chopping board. “Sorry, could you repeat that?”

“I was asking if I can add the shiitake mushrooms into the mixture. Are you okay?”

Suga nods shakily. There’s something wrong, but he doesn’t know how to explain it. So he does the next best thing- ignore it until it goes away. 

The room is going in circles, throwing off his centre of balance. He blinks a couple of times to get rid of the sensation, only for it to come back with a vengeance. 

A small groan escapes his lips. 

“What’s wrong?” Daichi turns to him, as he begins to chop the onions. 

“Just got some onion juice in my eye.”

Suga manages to shake off the dizzy spell, instead focusing on the task at hand. It’s easy to get his head into cooking, until the different smells start to overwhelm him.

_ I’m fine,  _ he assures himself. This is nothing. 

He pushes past the feeling of general unwellness, and the queasy sensation that bubbles in his stomach. It pokes and prods at him from the inside, spinning his head until he can’t see what’s going on. 

He narrowly misses slicing his finger as his vision doubles. His chest feels like there;s something stuck inside it, and he fights hard to maintain his neutral exterior. 

“I’ll put the ingredients into the pot.” Daichi takes over from there, and Suga has the time to fully experience all of his symptoms. He feels great. Really. 

“Is there something wrong?”

Suga shakes his head, and it’s the final straw for him. It triggers a wave of dizziness that crashes into him, and this time, it brings nausea with it. 

He groans, wobbling a few steps before bracing himself against the counter. “I just… feel a bit dizzy. That’s all.” He murmurs, shakily gripping the edge of the counter. 

“You’re worrying me.” Daichi leans towards him, staring at the lack of colour in his face. “Do you need to lay down? You don’t look so well.”

Suga’s heart warms. It’s amazing how he’s somehow gotten this big, caring man as his boyfriend. But right now, there’s a bigger concern at hand. 

He thinks he’s about to throw up. 

“Everything’s going around and around…” Suga mutters, lurching forward and almost banging his head against the cupboard. Daichi pulls him back just in time. 

“Oh my god, are you okay?!”

Suga nods, swallowing his spit. “Yeah. I… just give me a minute. I think I’m going to puke.”

“What part of that is okay?” Daichi reaches over to Suga, placing a hand on his back. 

“I’m-” A heave cuts him off, vomit splattering into the sink below. He can barely see straight, and it’s near impossible to breathe before he throws up again. His eyes water as he violently gets sick, and he almost doesn’t notice Daichi rubbing his back.

“Whoa. Um, it’s okay. No worries.” Daichi reassures him as he lets out disgusting retches, holding him steady so that he won’t fall into his own vomit. “Let it out. You’ll feel better then.”

Suga lifts his head shakily, grabbing some paper towels and wiping the refuse off his mouth. He doesn’t know what’s happened, but he feels marginally less awful after the nausea has subsided. 

“I don’t really know how that happened.” Suga murmurs, as if to make an excuse for vomiting into the kitchen sink. It’s the best he can come up with, in his foggy brain-state. 

Daichi nods understandingly. “Go to sleep, even if you feel better. And don’t forget to have some water.” 

With a nod, Suga steps out of the kitchen to get changed. Tiredness hits him immediately, and he heads over to the bedroom, collapsing into the bedsheets. 


	4. Atsumu, stomach flu

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Atsumu gets sick in the middle of the night. Osamu cares for him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi it's ur fav gross queen here, lemme know if you liked this pls

“Oi, Tsumu. Wanna play some FIFA?” 

Osamu’s suggestion has Atsumu slowly lifting his head off his pillow. Osamu prods him for good measure, and he falls off the bottom bunk with a groan. 

“Sure,” Atsumu murmurs, ignoring the cramp that twists and turns in his gut. His stomach’s been feeling weird ever since breakfast, or possibly even before. He hadn’t had the time to ask his parents to get him some over-the-counter pills for it, and now he’s stuck with the ache. 

“Well, you’re second player.” Osamu tosses a controller at him, and the energy he puts into catching it costs him more than it should. Something’s wrong, but he’d rather die than admit it to his brother. 

Atsumu grunts, opening and shutting his eyes at the bright display of the video game. It only makes the weird dizziness in his head worse. Osamu doesn’t seem to notice, too busy customising his team. 

Atsumu plays less than well against Osamu, every dizzy spell making him play recklessly and make stupid mistakes. Osamu beats him mercilessly, having no reason to go easy on him. The headache only gets worse, pressure intensifying on his brain. 

“I think I’m gonna go and sleep. I’m tired.” Atsumu murmurs, after his sixth loss in a row. His stomach feels… off. And whenever something feels off, sleeping it off usually works out for him. 

Osamu smirks. “Jealous, are we?”

“Shut up.”

Atsumu tosses the controller aside, and Osamu turns off the TV. “I’ll sleep too, then. It’s boring when you can’t see someone’s losing face while playing.”

“You’re garbage.” Atsumu grumbles. If he wasn’t feeling so sick, he would have wiped the floor with Osamu. 

“Says you, shit-pig.” Osamu lightly bonks Atsumu on the shoulder. He climbs to the top bunk, while Atsumu takes the bottom. It’s unusual how Atsumu isn’t putting up a fight about it, but he’s too tired to care. 

“Goodnight. Whatever.”

The lights are switched off, and Atsumu falls into a deep sleep. 

When he wakes up again, his stomach feels like it’s being stabbed repeatedly. The cramps only get worse with every second. He slowly reaches out to place his hand over it, and whines as soon as his hand touches the upset organ. 

A wave of nausea washes over him, and he immediately realises he’s sicker than he thought. His first thought is food poisoning, but then Osamu should be sick too. Stomach flu?

Atsumu decides to ignore it. If he leaves it alone for long enough, it should go away. He closes his eyes, but his stomach gurgles so much, he can't sleep. 

Osamu is fast asleep on the top bunk. Atsumu can hear him snore. It’s not fair, Osamu being the only one to sleep peacefully. Atsumu shouldn’t be the only one suffering. 

Everything in the room starts to float. He’s dizzy, and the room itself starts to spin as well. Maybe it’s himself that’s floating. It feels like motion sickness, which does nothing to help the nausea rising in his chest. 

Atsumu glances at the digital clock on the desk. It reads 11:57. He’s been sleeping for a couple of hours, but he doesn’t feel well-rested at all. 

The annoyance, mixed with the stomach pain, is what makes him poke on Osamu’s mattress. 

“Hey, Samu. Samu, wake up. Hey.”

Atsumu punches the mattress above him, until a small groan comes from above him. “The ‘uck do ya want, Tsumu?”

“Come down, please?” Atsumu hates how pathetic he sounds, but he can’t bring himself to care. His stomach cramps again, coiling tightly. “I feel kinda weird. The room’s too hot and too cold.”

Osamu slips down the ladder, peering into Atsumu’s face with a look of fatigue and exasperation. “It’s midnight. What the hell do you want me to do? Open the window or something?”

Atsumu grips his hand, before he can walk away to do so. “My stomach hurts. What do I do?”

“...You’re asking me?” Osamu huffs. He places his hand on Atsumu’s stomach, rubbing it with his palm. “Wow. It’s making unhappy noises.”

Atsumu frowns at his brother, as his stomach gurgles once more. “Thanks a lot. I feel like shit, Samu.”

“You look it.” Osamu says, but without the usual sarcastic tone. “Does it hurt bad? Do you think you have a fever?”

A fever. That… would make sense, really. His mouth feels hot but he can’t stop shivering. “Maybe…” He murmurs, and Osamu feels his forehead carefully. 

“Definitely a fever. It could be the flu, or maybe a stomach bug?”

Osamu tosses a thermometer at him, and adds an extra blanket on Atsumu’s bed. Atsumu grabs the thermometer and sticks it under his arm. His temperature surely can’t be that high, if he’s so cold. Even with the extra blanket, he’s shivering. 

“Thirty-eight degrees. Yup, you’re in sick person territory. Sleep.” Osamu stares at him disapprovingly. 

“Stop with that look. Do you think being sick is fun? Want me to breathe on you?” Atsumu threatens him, but Osamu doesn’t shut up. He can’t be very convincing, with a fever. 

But there’s only so much wisecracking he can do, before the stomachache gets too painful to ignore. Atsumu groans, curling up with his arms around his middle. Osamu notices him groaning, and starts rubbing his back. 

“You’re really not feeling well, huh?” Osamu says, and Atsumu notices that tears are in his eyes. “What’s wrong?”

“I feel really sick.” Atsumu says, and not just in the sense of general unwellness. There’s a stabbing pain in his abdomen, and nausea building up in his chest. His mouth tastes like a strange combination of sweet and bitter. It’s a tell-tale sign that he’s going to be sick. 

There’s sweat soaking his entire back, and it feels disgusting and wet against his skin. The room is too cold. He can’t stop shivering and groaning with fever, and the upset stomach doesn’t help. 

“Do you want a drink?”

Atsumu shakes his head. “If I drink something now, I’ll throw up.” His stomach heaves at the thought of drinking, and Osamu jumps, terrified. 

“Don’t throw up on the bed. Don’t.” Osamu warns him, in a tone that makes sure he’ll be skinned alive if he does vomit on the bed. “Here.” 

Osamu hands him a bowl. It’s empty and made out of plastic. Atsumu wants to curse something out- his brother, his luck, the bowl. But the only thing that comes out of his mouth is a sickly burp. 

“I don’t like puking.” Atsumu whines, and Osamu rolls his eyes. His brother was never one for sympathy. Oh well- the Miya brothers aren’t exactly known for their brotherly love and care. 

A sudden twist of nausea rises from his stomach, and vomit splatters into the bowl. He blinks out the tears in disbelief. He couldn’t even see it coming. If Osamu hadn’t placed the bowl under his chin, he would have soiled everything on his bed. 

“Oh, fuck.” Osamu cringes, but gently places a hand on Atsumu’s back and rubs supportive patterns against it. “Just let it all out. Then maybe you’ll feel better.”

Atsumu isn’t sure whether to trust him. The only thing he can register is the painful squeeze in his stomach, and a gag that pushes everything into his mouth. Everything feels so stuck inside his throat. Coughing makes the heaving worse. 

“This- this is bad,” Atsumu chokes out, hands shaking as he grips the blankets. “Oh, god. My stomach hurts like a motherfucker.”

“I’m glad I can only imagine.” Osamu wrinkles his nose, as another stream of vomit splatters into the container. Atsumu’s stomach contracts hard, forcing out everything that hadn’t already been squeezed out of it. 

Atsumu can’t seem to stop retching, and everything hurts because of it. His throat is sore from the acid burning its way up, and his nostrils are stuffy and achy. His salivary glands feel swollen and strange. 

“I’ll go toss this out. Rinse your mouth, and try not to puke until I come back.”

Atsumu grabs the bottle of water beside his pillow, and takes a few sips of it to take the sliminess out of his mouth. “Thanks,” he murmurs, as Osamu walks out of their room with the bowl. 

As annoying as Osamu is, Atsumu has to give him credit for being a decent caretaker. Atsumu doesn’t like dealing with sick people one bit, especially assholes. Unfortunately, he’s both of them, as of now. 

Having a brother isn’t so bad after all, he thinks. Osamu comes back with some more medical supplies, placing a cold pack on his forehead. It’s on all straight and proper, the way their mother does it for them when they’re sick. 

Extending his arms, Atsumu allows Osamu to cuddle with him in the bottom bunk together, just for one night. 


	5. Sugawara, sickfic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> request:
> 
> Hello! I found your blog the other day and I binge read everything!! I’m absolutely in love with your writing. So if you’re still taking requests, could I request a sick suga? Like he avoids everyone until practice bc he doesn’t want anyone to find out he isn’t feeling well (and he firmly believes he has it under control) but at practice he gets hit in the stomach with a ball and completely let loose and Diachi helps him away from the group and asks Suga why he hid his sickness from him?

The moment Suga had woken up, he knew something was off. 

His cheeks were hotter than usual, and his head was swimming with a strange dizziness. It wasn’t an ideal way to start the day, and he could only hope that things would change for the better with time. 

He firmly believed it would be gone before he even noticed, being the optimist he is. Everyone would have their sluggish days once in a while. He’d taken his temperature at home, and it was only slightly elevated, but he knew Daichi and Asahi would make a huge deal out of it. 

So Suga decided to do the best thing any third year with a touch of cold could do- avoid them. 

He ate lunch alone outside, and sat away from Daichi during classes. He would be lying if he said he didn’t feel bad, but Daichi nagging him about self care wasn’t what he had in mind for the day. 

And most importantly, he has everything under control. That’s just how it is for Sugawara Koushi, team uncle. 

“Okay, let’s go! Everyone ready?”

Daichi calls out to the team, and everyone hops onto one side of the court to hear the captain speak. Suga shuffles to the end of the line, making sure that if his face is redder than usual, it won’t show. 

His stomach’s beginning to hurt now, too. Despite all the things he’d done to conceal it, his cold wasn’t getting much better. He doubted it was something fit to be called a cold. That sounded too innocent. 

“Suga-san, could you give me a few sets?” Tanaka hops over to him with a volleyball, and Suga nods. He stares at Suga for a split second, and comments, “Is everything okay? You look kinda… sick?”

Hiding his surprise, Suga laughs. “Really? I’m fine, Tanaka. Be nice to old guy Suga.” 

“Yeah, Ryu! He looks fine to me!” Nishinoya comes to the rescue. He’s not the most observant person, and that’s the type of person Suga needs right now. 

“Okay then.” Tanaka shrugs, and Suga internally breathes a sigh of relief. 

Practice goes slowly, every second weighing him down. Suga feels like he’s steaming in a sauna. It’s too hot, and if someone were to push him the wrong way, he would surely hit the ground. 

On top of that, his stomach is really starting to hurt. With every movement and jump, a layer of queasiness seems to settle in his chest. It’s not a good day for him. 

Daichi is too busy coaching the other second years and practicing on his own receives. Suga doesn’t mind that, at all. Asahi is with him, his spikes serving excellent practice for the team’s defence. 

Only a few more hours, and Suga can finally go home to rest. The first years are practicing with each other, on the court near him. The reward of home dangling in front of him is what keeps him going. 

Everything was going well, until a rogue ball bounced off one of the first year’s arms, hurtling towards his direction. 

It hits him right in the stomach, and it’s a cue his body takes to let all hell loose. 

It all happens too fast. The initial collision hadn’t generated much force, but it was enough to set an already-nauseous stomach off to seconds away from vomiting. 

Suga lands on his knees, hard. One hand clamps on his mouth, fighting the inevitable. A murmur spreads out on the court, that acknowledges something is very, very wrong. All eyes turn to him. 

I’m fine, he tries to say. What comes out instead is a high-pitched burp, and a splatter of vomit on the floor. 

“Oh, holy shit!” 

“I’m so sorry, Sugawara-san! You’re…” 

Sick. He’s so sick, and he can’t deny it any longer. 

A gag tears out of him, and he brings up another splash of liquid. His nose and throat are burning, and his eyes are clouded with pain. His shoulders heave with the force of each retch, breathing uneven and hot. Does he have a fever?

“I’ve got you.” Strong hands pull him out of the mess, guiding him away to the gymnasium’s exit. “I’ve got it. Don’t worry.” Daichi announces to the rest of the team, that’s gone deathly silent. Not even Nishinoya or Hinata spoke a word. 

Once they’re sitting on the grass outside the gymnasium, Daichi opens his mouth, and Suga braces himself for a lecture. 

“Why didn’t you say something?”

Daichi stares at him with disappointed eyes, and Suga shrinks. “I thought I had it under control. I did-”

“Leaving it alone until you puke from a flubbed receive isn’t ‘having it under control’, you know.” Daichi argues, just as Suga expected him to. And because he’s usually doing the arguing instead, he can’t make a rebuttal. 

He sighs. “I know, I know. I just don’t like it. It’s so embarrassing.” 

“Suga. Nobody on this team is going to think less of you for being sick.” Daichi rubs his back, comforting and strong. “You’re always a reliable vice captain, to them.”

Slowly, Suga begins to realise that maybe Daichi is right. 


	6. Tsukishima, stomach flu

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Request for Tsukki that I filled.

Tsukishima wakes up feeling awful. It takes him a few seconds to figure out what type of awful it is, and he realises it’s sick person awful. His stomach feels queasy and crampy, and he debates whether to suck it up or stay at home. 

It takes ten more seconds for him to realise he has a biology test in fifth period. Risking his grade isn’t an option, seeing as science isn’t a strength of his. With a groan, he pushes himself up and places a hand on his stomach. 

“Morning, Tsukki!” 

Yamaguchi’s peppy voice greets him, and Tsukishima gives a nod of acknowledgement. “Good morning,” he murmurs, walking to school in the least painful way possible. 

“I heard Hinata failed his English test again…” Yamaguchi sighs. At the start of the school year, Yamaguchi would have laughed. But now that he’s formed a bond with Hinata, he’s genuinely concerned. Tsukishima knows how Yamaguchi works. 

“It shouldn’t be that hard if he had just studied,” Tsukishima replies, grimacing through the wave of pain. 

Yamaguchi shrugs. “But some people just find it hard to study, you know? Some people can’t get high grades even if they try.” He glances at Tsukishima’s hand, floating above his abdomen. “Uh, Tsukki, you okay?”

Tsukishima’s head snaps up. “What? I’m fine. Let’s go to class.” His shoulders heave with an irritated huff, and manages to get Yamaguchi to stop vocalizing his worry. 

The discomfort in his stomach only changes for the worse, throughout the day. When two classes are over, he’s fighting back burps that rise to his throat and cramps that wrack his entire abdomen. He’s getting sicker. 

He stops to think of a reason why it’s happening. He hadn’t eaten anything weird, or forgotten to wash his hands. A stomach bug seemed to fit the description. 

"You're not gonna eat?" 

Yamaguchi asks, nibbling his own food. Tsukishima shakes his head. He picks at the rice and pushes it around with his chopsticks, but doesn’t manage to really eat anything. His stomach has decided that every piece of food is revolting to him right now. 

It’s only a few more classes. Tsukishima decides he’ll skip practice for today. The team can manage without him, and the third years would send him home if they knew he was sick, anyway. 

All he has to endure now, is the biology test. 

Tsukishima stares at the key terms in his notebook, cramming the information into his head one last time. His stomach twists even worse when he attempts to focus on the tiny lettering. Reading makes him feel motion sick. 

“Okay, everyone. Put your books away.” Nakamura-sensei begins to hand out the sheets, and Tsukishima swallows hard. It’s only for twenty minutes. He can do this. He’s been dealing with the discomfort all day. 

As Tsukishima begins to fill the answers into the boxes provided, the roiling cramps evolve into something more sinister. His stomach gives a suspicious lurch, and the room feels awfully hot. 

By the time he’s halfway through the test, he’s struggling to hold down the sick-sounding noises from his throat. Despite the lack of food in his system, his stomach feels bloated and stiff. His fist curls and uncurls from the pain. 

An unproductive heave catches him off-guard, and he almost panics. The nausea worsens exponentially, breath catching in his throat. He’s going to throw up, sooner or later. 

Ten minutes left. Tsukishima rubs at his stomach with a frown, willing the queasiness to go away. A hiccup pushes out of his mouth, and something heavy shifts in his chest. 

His eyes start to water, and his mouth is heavy with spit. Just as he contemplates whether to put his hand up and run to the bathroom, the bell rings and ends the class. 

Before anyone can talk to him, Tsukishima bolts out of the classroom, hand clamped over his mouth. 

A rush of liquid rises up his throat, and Tsukishima holds down a gag as he walks hastily into one of the stalls. With a loud gag, he brings up what little breakfast and lunch he’d consumed. When he heaves for the second time, the dinner he’d eaten the day before splashes beneath him. 

Tears of exertion swell in his eyes. Guttural retches escape his throat, and the clench in his stomach hurts so  _ bad  _ he almost keels over. Tsukishima absolutely refuses to let his face or hands go anywhere near the toilet bowl, even as he’s expelling his stomach contents violently. 

The food isn’t even digested properly. Its consistency is chunky, and it sticks in his throat until he coughs it out. The sight gets to him before the smell does. He’s not awarded a full inhale, before he gags painfully, scraping his throat. 

“Oh shit- oh god, okay, okay. It’s okay. I knew it. You’re sick.” 

A hand is on Tsukishima’s back, rubbing gentle circles as he spits out a foul-coloured glob into the toilet bowl. A string of spit hangs from his mouth, dripping past his lips. 

Yamaguchi presses some tissues to Tsukishima’s mouth, wiping the refuse off his lips and chin. He removes his glasses carefully, dabbing at his swollen eyes. 

“Come on.” Yamaguchi holds him up, flushing the toilet. “Let’s go to the infirmary. Can you stand?”

Tsukishima nods, shaking. Yamaguchi takes off his own jacket and places it onto his shoulders. It has a comforting scent, from his childhood. 

Yamaguchi slides the infirmary door open, looking around for the nurse. “Excuse me? My friend’s not feeling well. Can he rest here?”

The nurse comes out from behind one of the curtains, making her way over to them. “What happened? You look really pale.” 

Tsukishima slumps down on one of the beds, clutching his aching stomach. “I threw up just now. My stomach hurts and I just feel exhausted.” 

“There’s a stomach bug making the rounds lately.” The nurse hands him a bottle of pocari sweat, kept at room temperature. “Since you’ve already vomited once, I need to call your parents. Both of you, stay there for a bit.”

Tsukishima’s day is going absolutely awful. He doesn’t even have the energy to sit up anymore. He slips off his shoes and lies down on the bed, breaths ragged and painful. 

“You do really look sick.” Yamaguchi opens the bottle of pocari sweat. “Drink something, Tsukki. You need to replace the water in your body.”

Tsukishima’s mouth tastes awful. He reluctantly takes the bottle and gulps down the sweet-tasting liquid, throat moving up and down with each swallow. He’s under the covers, and he’s still shivering. He can barely talk. 

“Today is a shit day,” Tsukishima murmurs, and Yamaguchi pats his head like he’s ten years younger than him. But it’s comforting, so he doesn’t complain. 

He closes his eyes, hoping to get some rest while he can. Once he gets home, he can be left alone to suffer on his own. His head sinks into the pillow, and his limbs relax under the blankets. 

All of a sudden, his eyes flutter open. 

“Is something wrong?” Yamaguchi asks, when Tsukishima lifts his head and shudders. “Are you feeling sick?”

Tsukishima doesn’t even have the energy to open his mouth. The nausea is rising right up to his throat, without any warning. A gag swells up his cheeks, and Yamaguchi notices the signs of imminent disaster. 

“Hey, it’s okay. I’m sure we can…” Yamaguchi grabs a plastic bag from nearby, shoving it under Tsukishima’s chin. It’s see-through, but also the only receptacle closely available. 

An awful-sounding retch rips out of Tsukishima’s throat, burning with a vengeance. With almost nothing left to be sick with, the heaves are more forceful, coming from deep inside his stomach. His stomach is sensitive and sore, with one movement setting off waves of coiled-up pain.

A small amount of green-tinted liquid pools at the bottom of the bag, weighing it down. The humiliation of being watched as he’s emptying his stomach burns in his cheeks. Yamaguchi surely thinks of him as a disgusting person now. 

Three or four more heaves later, Tsukishima’s stomach calms down enough for him to sip on the pocari sweat again. Yamaguchi is the one who holds it to his lips, without doing so much as frowning. 

“...Sorry. I know I’m gross right now.” Tsukishima murmurs, coughing into his palm. He feels better after throwing up, but he doesn’t know how long it’ll last before he’s bent over in pain again. 

Yamaguchi glares at him softly. “This isn’t anything, Tsukki. We’re friends, it happens sometimes. Don’t apologize.” He snickers. “Besides, you’ve had your worse moments.” 

“Have not.” Tsukishima is glad he isn’t the type go blush easily. 

“Trust me, you have.”

Tsukishima grunts weakly, sitting up as the nurse comes back. Relief floods him, when he realises he can go home. 

“Tsukishima-kun, you can go home now. Your parents are here.”

Yamaguchi holds his hand out to him, to help him stand up on his feet. “Get well soon! I’ll fill you in on studies, so don’t worry!” He gives him a quick hug, knowing he’s not in the position to refuse it. 

A smile almost pulls up on his face. Instead, he scrunches up his nose. “I hope I won’t have to put up with this shit any longer than a day.”


	7. Lev, asthma

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I was requested a LevYaku with asthmatic Lev, so here it is!   
It’s not really shippy, but they do hug and stuff. So.... yep.

“Hey, Lev! Receive!”

Yaku throws the ball over to him, and Lev hastily gets his arms into position. He’s a little too late, and it bonks him in the chin. 

“Gah! You’re a demon, Yaku-san!” Lev whines, rubbing his chin and placing his hands on his hips. “I just wanna spike! Like an ace! Spiking is cool!”

Kuroo and Taketora give him the same looks as always- exasperated. “Ah shit, here they go again.”

“You’ll spike once you’re done with the receives. And a hundred of them, you hear me?!” Yaku kicks Lev’s ass lightly, smacking on his arms still in receive position. “Get used to the heaviness of a spike! Don’t falter!” 

The whines and screams of Lev could be heard throughout the gymnasium. It was nothing out of the ordinary, and nobody paid much attention to it. Not even Lev. 

His chest began to feel strange, in the middle of receiving practice. It was tight, as if the air was slowly being squeezed out. His lungs felt like a balloon, deflating until it couldn’t take any more air in. 

“Oi, you gonna do some spiking? There’s still time.” Kuroo calls Lev over, and Lev lifts his head with a huff. He wants to sit down, and regain his breath. But standing around doesn’t make anything better. So he follows Kuroo over to Kenma, arms swinging around lightly. 

Kenma squints at Lev, his eyes piercing through his skin. “You’re weird today.” 

“...No, I’m not.” Lev retorts. He steps out onto the court, and gets ready for spiking practice. There was something weird about him, but he couldn’t pinpoint what it was. 

Kenma lets out a hum, tossing the ball to him without further questions. Lev spikes, but the ball doesn’t hit his hand the right way. He needs to get better. 

“One more time, Kenma-san!” 

With a groan, Kenma sets for him again. This time, when Lev leaps up, he feels something definitely shift in his chest. His back stiffens, and an unpleasant feeling leaps to his throat. 

A cough slips past his lips, and he stifles it with his hand. No, no, no. He can’t let it happen yet. He’s at practice. He can’t just have an asthma attack. He’s not finished spiking yet. 

“You okay? Hey, are you sick?” 

Yaku is beside him quickly, his libero instincts and speed pushing him to Lev’s side. Lev shakes his head, coughing into his palm. He tries to yawn and take a deeper breath, but his lungs won’t let him. It’s like he’s breathing through a straw. 

Lev tries not to panic, but it’s not easy. The air keeps escaping his lungs, and it’s not being replenished. He feels so helpless. 

The coughing lets up for a moment, but instead he can’t stop the whistling in his chest. No matter how hard he inhales, all he gets is a brief moment of tranquility before liquid weighs down his lungs. 

“Breathe, Lev. It’s okay.” Yaku presses his ear against his back, as a wheeze rattles his chest. “Is there any medication you can take? What can I do?”

A sob wracks Lev’s frame, as the coughing starts again. There’s no time for him to be awarded an inhale. “My bag…” he hacks painfully, all colour draining from his face. “Can’t… breathe.”

He can’t even talk. His chest is too heavy, like a boulder’s been sitting on it. His blue-tinged fingertips start shaking. He wants to go home. 

When Lev falls to his knees like a sack of wet cement, Yaku rushes off to find the inhaler in Lev’s bag. He’d shoved it deep into one of the pockets, not expecting he would need to use it anytime soon. At that moment, he feels like an actual idiot. 

“Here, Lev. Will this help?” Yaku presses an inhaler to his mouth, assisting him in taking the medicine into his respiratory system. When the first puff of cold air enters his lungs, relief washes over his widened eyes. 

Lev slowly regains his composure, as the medicine widens his airways and relaxes the tension in his body. With the oxygen reaching his brain, he can think clearer now. Yaku is rubbing his back softly, his hands stroking between the hard juts of his shoulder blades. 

“Yaku-san.” Lev draws in a breath, removing the inhaler from his mouth. “I’m sorry…”

Yaku ruffles his hair. “Don’t be sorry. You should be sorry when you run away from receiving practice, not when you have an asthma attack.”

Lev lets out a frustrated noise, and rubs his forehead into Yaku’s chest. “Yaku-san, you’re too nice… The sky’s gonna fall down tomorrow.” 

“Don’t push it, you big baby.” Yaku pats his back with his palm, allowing Lev to envelop him into a hug. 

“It was scary.” Lev whimpers, sniffling into Yaku’s t-shirt. “You’re so warm, Yaku-san.” 

Yaku laughs, mouth pulled into a smile. “Well, I’m your teammate. It’s my job to look after you.” 

Lev rolls himself up inside Yaku’s chest, arms wound tightly around him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you like this fic, please check out my other stories too!


	8. Nishinoya, sickfic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A request I got for a sick Noya with Tanaka and his sister caring for him!

Today is Nishinoya’s ‘off’ day. 

That much, he’s aware of. While it’s true that Nishinoya isn’t the most self-aware person to walk the earth, he’s able to tell when his body isn’t in his usual condition. Also, because it rarely happens, it’s easy to notice. 

Most of his days are “on” days. He’s a lightbulb, bouncing off the walls without any caffeine needed. On the contrary, caffeine makes him sleepy, although everyone else is skeptical of it. He knows his own body best, he’s sure of it. 

So when his stomach starts to cramp, he ignores it. When it gets harder to ignore, he makes up the worst excuse he can. His stomach is acting all weird, because he’s swallowed a fairy in his sleep, and it’s trying to get out. 

But as the day progresses, the ache in his stomach grows worse. He wants nothing more than to curl up in the fetal position and take a nap. Usually when he feels sick or tired, a nap solves everything. 

“Hey, Noya? Are you…” 

Tanaka prods him, as he digs his face into his knees. Volleyball practice is over at last, and Nishinoya couldn’t be happier. His stomach hurts too much to continue, and he’d flubbed a couple of receives he knew he could have aced. 

“Hey, Ryu?” He murmurs, lifting his head and wobbling to his feet. “Can I come over this evening?”

Nishinoya isn’t one to make plans, when it comes to Tanaka. He’ll show up to his house, spare key and all, and chill on the sofa alone if nobody is around. But that’s a pretty rare case, seeing as either Saeko or Tanaka’s mother are usually around. 

“Sure.” Tanaka furrows his brows. It’s rare for Nishinoya to actually  _ ask  _ before he barges into his family home. “Your parents not home?”

“Probably not.” 

That’s another reason why Nishinoya enjoys camping out at Tanaka’s. His own parents are almost never home, his mother an accountant and his father a professor of Japanese literature. They make it clear that he hasn’t inherited their brains. 

“Okay, then. Let’s go.” Tanaka grabs his arm, and drags him out of the club room. They head out of the school, walking to Tanaka’s place. It isn’t far, and Nishinoya can keep up his energetic exterior for a few more minutes. 

“We’re home!”

“Oi, Ryu! Help me with the dinner, brat- oh! Yuu!” Saeko’s tone changes when she spots Nishinoya, much to Ryu’s disappointment at the clear favoritism. 

Tanaka heads up to the kitchen anyway, while Nishinoya heads upstairs into Tanaka’s room. He often keeps a set of clothes there, usually because of sleepovers and nights spent studying and marathoning Ghibli movies. 

As he pulls the t-shirt over his head, a wave of dizziness washes over him. His feet sway, and he collapses into the bedsheets right beside him. For a split second, he feels nauseous.

Impossible, Nishinoya shakes his head. He can’t be nauseous. He’s just come home from practice, and he’s always hungry after exerting himself. 

“Hey, Yuu! Come down for food!”

Saeko’s food is sublime, partly due to her often helping out with her parents’ eatery. Nishinoya knows that very well, but isn’t inclined to gobble up a helping of dinner anytime soon. His stomach his heavy and sore, as if he’s already eaten a three-course meal. 

He heads downstairs, and bites his lip trying to smile. He sits down clumsily, picking up the spoon set down beside the bowl of rice and meat. The Tanaka siblings sit opposite each other, with Tanaka beside Nishinoya. 

“Thanks for the meal!”

Nishinoya digs into the food, struggling to brush off the queasiness in his stomach. He should be feeling better after eating, but his stomach feels sick and bloated instead. It shouldn’t be happening. His stomach shouldn’t be this upset. 

He demolishes the food, but the sick feeling doesn’t settle. His mouth begins to water, and the churning feeling in his stomach moves up, up, up. The “Oh shit” moment comes, forcing him to confront the fact that he’s going to throw up.

A groan escapes his lips, as he leans forward. He needs to get to the bathroom, and fast. It’s a race between his stomach and his libero legs, which seem to have trained for this sole moment. 

Nishinoya praises whatever god there is up there, when he makes it to the bathroom on time. He doesn’t even have the time to drop to his knees, before his stomach heaves productively. 

Bitterness rises to his throat, cheeks swelling productively with something that tastes revolting. Of course, Saeko’s food was a godsend, but nothing tastes good when he’s vomiting it out. The thought of food makes him retch. Vomit splatters into the bowl, creating a bigger splash than he intended. It gets onto his hair, and the rim of the bowl. 

No matter how close Nishinoya is with Tanaka, he still feels awful for making a mess. But his stomach doesn’t give him any choice. He heaves up another stream of brown vomit, and the grains of rice are visible in it. He gags with disgust. 

“Noya, what happened? You okay?” Tanaka is behind him, rubbing his back without any sign of disgust. “Oh my god, nee-chan’s cooking killed you!”

“Oh, shut up!” Saeko yells, but there’s concern written all over her face. “We’d all be sick, then. And you’re the one who deserves it the most.”

Nishinoya groans, spitting up a thinner stream of bile. “No, it’s not nee-san’s fault. I was feelin’ weird all day.”

“See?” Saeko shoots a glare at her brother, lifting Nishinoya up gently. “Let me take care of you. It’s not often you get sick, is it?”

“Hey! Noya’s my bro!” Tanaka crosses his arms, following them back to his room. He helps Saeko to set Nishinoya down on his bed, feeling his forehead for a sign of fever. 

“It’s probably just a stomachache. I’ll be fine,” Nishinoya says, his voice louder than average even in sickness. 

“Whatever. We’re still spoiling you.” 

The whole incident ends with Nishinoya and Tanaka cuddling on the bed, while Saeko snaps a few photos and brings Nishinoya water and blankets. Thankfully, Tanaka’s bed is spared from any potential disaster, and yet again, Nishinoya spends the night at the Tanaka household. 


	9. Yamaguchi, chemotherapy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> hello, this features cancer and chemotherapy drugs, so if you don't like this kind of stuff I suggest you skip over this chapter. 
> 
> this drabble was inspired by this fic, so give it some love : https://archiveofourown.org/works/16570466/chapters/38827121

One of the worst parts of having cancer is the treatment he has to undergo. 

Yamaguchi’s life had been flipped upside down, ever since the diagnosis had been pushed into his face. He had just started his second year at Karasuno high school, eager to improve on his volleyball skills. Instead, he’s on a hospital bed, wishing he could return to his normal life. 

But the worst part of it all, is having all of his identity stripped away. He’s another sick kid, to be pitied and stared at. It hurts in many places, but his heart aches the most. It wasn’t like he asked to be like this. 

He wants to sleep all the time. His body is in too much pain for that to happen, which in turn exhausts all his energy. There’s no way for him to win. Every day, it feels like he’s doing something wrong. 

“I’m just so tired.” Yamaguchi sighs, running his tongue over the sores in his mouth. It hurts, but it’s a compulsion. “I want to sleep.”

Tsukishima frowns. He never knows what to say, but he’s been visiting him every day in the hospital. Which is more than enough for Yamaguchi, all things considered. He only wishes he could go to school again. His immune system is too compromised, though, so that won’t be happening. 

“Go to sleep.” 

“I’m trying, Tsukki.” 

Tsukishima sits beside the bed, on the stool that’s surely uncomfortable for someone his height. “Well, is there anything I can do?” 

Although he sounds like he’s tired of it all, Yamaguchi knows he cares. If he could trade places with him, Yamaguchi knows he would do it in a heartbeat. He doesn’t know what to do, when his best friend is severely ill in a hospital bed. 

They switch him to a new medication, designed to be stronger and more effective. It’s meant to kill the cancer faster, which means the side effects are worse. Yamaguchi misses the days when he could complain about being exhausted and having to wear wine coolers on his hands. 

Now, it’s nausea and his smooth hair falling out by the day. 

A painful, sick-sounding retch tears through Yamaguchi’s throat. It’s the fourth time that day, and it’s not even midday. There’s nothing except green-tinted liquid for him to throw up. 

“It sucks,” Yamaguchi coughs, his abused throat burning worse than ever. “I don’t want to do this anymore.”

Tsukishima rubs his back tentatively. “I know. You’re trying so hard and that’s enough. I’m… sorry, that you have to go through this.”

Yamaguchi starts sobbing, as Tsukishima helps him sip on a glass of water. He has to work to keep it inside his stomach, fighting the urge to throw it back up. He hates feeling nauseous. The sickness claws at his insides, pushing out the poison that’s not there. 

There’s strands of hair on his pillow, that definitely weren’t there before. Tsukishima notices, but tears his eyes away quickly. It doesn’t stop Yamaguchi from sobbing harder. 

“I want to go home.” 

Yamaguchi knows he can’t. It’s too dangerous, not when his immune system is weakened and a simple flu could take him straight back to hospital. But if the opportunity would ever arise, he would still take it. 

“Of course you do. I want you back, too.” Tsukishima puts an arm around him, stroking his neck instead of his hair. “I love you.”

Yamaguchi’s eyes go round. He grows red, and his eyes brim with tears. Tsukishima is so nice to him, especially these past few days. He’s crushed with the feeling that he deserves better than a frail, sick boyfriend. 

He just wants to get better, and meet him outside the hospital again. 


	10. Nishinoya, migraine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nishinoya has a migraine on the bus, and doesn't tell anyone.

“Let’s go to Tokyo!” 

“Hell yeah!”

The entire team is in high spirits, as they enter the bus in a jovial mood. Even Kageyama and Hinata are here this time, having escaped supplementary exams by the skin of their teeth. 

“Yo! You’re not gonna stick around in Miyagi this time round, huh?”

Tanaka grabs both Hinata and Kageyama’s heads, one in each hand as if to compare how their hair feels to the other. Hinata lets out a loud groan, scrambling away over to Yamaguchi for cover. 

“Don’t vomit this time, Hinata.” Tsukishima has a menacing stare, enough to make anyone’s balls shrivel. “I want to have a peaceful ride.”

Ukai and Takeda are the last ones to board. “We’ll be taking turns driving, so make sure to behave yourselves.”

“We will!” Daichi nods, and spins around to give Nishinoya and Tanaka a look. They shrink under his gaze, and sink into their seats. 

Everyone starts to settle into the relaxed atmosphere, talking amongst themselves or sitting with headphones on and everything else tuned out. Yamaguchi and Hinata start trading snacks. 

Everything should be fine. That’s what Nishinoya thinks, as he proceeds to stare into space and ignore the blurring spots in his vision. 

Tanaka doesn’t seem to notice that anything is off. And he shouldn’t. Nishinoya isn’t one to feel unwell on bus rides, funfair rides, or anything that moves, really. He doesn’t mind sitting in any vehicle and running his mouth until he’s reached whatever destination. 

“Noya, you’re quiet today. Awfully quiet.” Ennoshita says, but Nishinoya barely pays attention. He waves him off with the flick of a wrist. “You’re not sleep deprived or something?”

“I take perfectly good care of myself, thank you very much!” Nishinoya retorts. “I eat every day! I sleep good hours! I take a shit after every—”

“Nobody wants to hear about your shits!” 

Suga rolls his eyes, while Asahi prepares to doze off beside him. Daichi is right behind the rowdy second years, to keep an eye on them. 

To Nishinoya’s credit, he’s far from rowdy. His legs have a strange tingling feel to them, like he’s been holding them in an uncomfortable position for too long. His teammates in front of him start to blur, blobs of raven-black floating around in his vision.

The bus drives down a calm path, and the energetic buzz of the students die down into quiet chatter. But to Nishinoya, the voices are irritating and incessant. Yelling at everyone to  _ please shut the fuck up  _ sounds like a great idea in theory, but it’s unrealistic. Especially considering how he’s the one being yelled at to keep his mouth shut all the time. 

It takes him a few moments to realise that his irritability is partly caused by his headache. Once he notices it, it’s impossible to ignore. It’s getting worse, to his chagrin. 

The pain pulses in his head, and he rubs the left side of his temple with a huff. When it stops pulsing, it throbs. An ice pick is stabbing at him from the inside. He doesn’t have a clue where all the pain came from. He just wants it to stop. 

“It… hurts…” 

Tanaka turns around to stare at him. “Whoa, what happened? Are you sick?” He presses a hand to his shoulder, supporting him. 

“My head hurts and everything is so loud…” Nishinoya murmurs, trying to concentrate on anything but the noises and bright lights around him. But it’s so, so loud. His head is pounding so much, it’s making him feel like vomiting. 

Tanaka takes out a bunch of pills from his backpack, handing them to Noya and opening up his hand for him to take. “Hold on a second, I’ll call Daichi-san.”

Nishinoya’s body does not understand how to “hold on a second”. His stomach clenches along with the wave of pain, and something definitely hot and liquid is rising up his chest. 

Oh, shit. Someone on this bus is surely going to kill him. 

“Noya, don’t…”

Nishinoya doesn’t catch the rest of the sentence. A loud belch tears out of his throat, splattering vomit all over his white shirt. Luckily it’s one of the plain ones, but now, he’s positively filthy. 

With the swiftness of a panther, Tanaka vaults over several seats to settle back at Nishinoya’s side. Without caring about the mess spreading out onto the floor and seats, he rubs Nishinoya’s back firmly. 

“Hey, it’s okay. Did you get carsick?” Tanaka asks him gently, as Nishinoya brings up a pitiful splash of bile between his legs. 

Nishinoya wants to shake his head, but any movement he makes only worsens the pain. “My head hurts so bad,” he whispers, gagging at the intense throbbing in his temple. “It might be a migraine, or something…”

Tanaka nods, glancing at the mess unfolded onto everything within close proximity. “Let’s clean you up. We'll think about everything else later.”

With the help of the other second years and third years, the bus no longer looks awful, although the smell still lingers. Everyone had been evacuated swiftly once the bus was parked, and Nishinoya was changed into a new set of clothes with some strong painkillers in his system. 

“Are you feeling any better?” Tanaka waves some cool air at him, while he lays down on a vinyl sheet on the grass. “I know migraines are awful. My mom has them sometimes.”

“A little. I still feel pretty awful.” Nishinoya exhales, hair floppy with all the wax sweated out. “But thanks for taking care of me.”

Tanaka only grins at him. “Anytime, for my friend!”


	11. Kageyama, stomach flu

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> request: 
> 
> Hi there again~ how have you been? could write something about Karasuno goin on a training camp but when they are gathering one of the senpais notices that Kageyama isnt there and asks Hitoka to go look for him and she finds him vomiting in the bathroom (stomach bug maybe?) She stays there with him for a while and he almost passes out and asks her to not tell anyone but she manages to tell either way and he gets sick severall times during the ride and the senpais taking care of him? Thank you

“Yachi-san, have you seen Kageyama?” Hinata asks the younger manager, who shakes her head quickly. 

“I thought he was still packing his things. Is he not there?” 

“No, he finished before me. I thought he’d be out here somewhere, but…” Hinata shrugs. It’s strange, for the freak duo to be apart. Especially at a time like this. 

Sugawara looks concerned, too. “Yacchan, is it okay if I ask you to look for him? The bus has to leave soon, and we need all of us inside.” After a hard week of training camp, it’s vital for them to rest well and head back home safely. 

“Of course!” 

Yachi liked to be helpful. It’s hard not to feel incompetent sometimes, when Kiyoko is so  _ competent  _ in her stead. And has always been, most likely. She doesn’t let her thoughts spiral into “what if I get my organs harvested?”. 

She hops back into the building, heading over to the classroom that had been used for the Karasuno boys to sleep in. “Kageyama-kun?” She calls out, and silence is returned to her. It’s strange, because the students shouldn’t be anywhere else. None of the other players know where he is, either. 

She walks out of the classroom, and hears movement nearby. “Is that you? Kageyama-kun?” She starts to worry about being sold to the black market, but steps into the bathroom, wondering if it’s really Kageyama. 

“...Yeah?” 

Kageyama’s voice comes from one of the stalls, but it’s so weak, it’s scary. Yachi looks around for someone else who could help, before realizing that she’s on her own. “Kageyama-kun! What are you doing there?” 

Yachi hears coughing, and something heavy splash into the toilet. She pushes the stall door in a hurry, finding it open. Kageyama is slumped over the toilet seat, throwing up his lunch. From the looks of it, he’s been struggling for some time. 

“Are you sick? I should call someone! Kageyama-kun, please stay there and hold on!” Yachi reaches for his back, rubbing it gently. Kageyama heaves again, this time bringing up a thinner stream of vomit. 

Kageyama shakes his head, not even wiping the drool dangling from his chin. “No… Don’t call anyone. I’m fine.” Yachi doesn’t know what to say, because it’s so painfully obvious that he isn’t fine. But she can’t be frustrated at someone who’s so sick. 

“Hey, Yacchan? Is Kageyama there?” 

Daichi’s voice appears from nowhere, and it’s her saving grace. She can trust the captain to handle a nauseous, limp Kageyama better than she can. Even if it means feeling useless. 

“Y-yes! He’s not feeling well, and vomiting… I’m really worried.” Yachi explains, as Daichi lifts Kageyama to his feet. “Is there anything I can do to help?” 

“Can you go tell Suga and Shimizu?” Daichi requests, and Yachi rushes off, almost tripping over her own feet. “Thanks, Yacchan. For finding him.” 

Kageyama groans in Daichi’s arms, clutching his stomach. It’s aching, and his face is contorted with discomfort. There’s nothing Daichi can do, except taking care not to jostle him too much. 

“Let’s get you to the bus. The sooner we get you home, the better.” 

Daichi’s words are comforting. Kageyama closes his eyes, allowing the captain to carry him right over to the bus. The players from other schools are watching worriedly. Kageyama doesn’t feel well enough to care. 

“Kageyama, are you okay? Do you want my jacket?” 

Hinata offers his Karasuno jacket to Kageyama worriedly. He’s already buried underneath his own clothes, but he doesn’t stop shivering. There’s a bucket on his lap, and it looks like he’ll need it during the ride. His movements are sluggish. 

The engine of the bus starts up, and Kageyama swallows thickly. Sugawara sits beside him, to make sure he’ll be within reach when something happens. “Try to sleep. Don’t worry about anything, okay?” 

Kageyama barely manages a nod, resting his head on the back of the seat. Sitting up is a chore, but lying down in a bus with no seatbelts is dangerous. The ride is hours long, and Kageyama isn’t sure if he can last the whole way. 

He squeezes his eyes shut, praying that he’ll be able to go to sleep. His stomach is sore from throwing up earlier. He can feel it gurgling with a vengeance, as the bus starts to drive down the road. 

“I really hope he feels better.” Daichi murmurs, seated a row behind Sugawara and Kageyama. “It’s not like him to be so sick. Poor guy.” 

A particularly sharp turn sends everyone lurching in their seats. “Jesus!” Tanaka exclaims, with Nishinoya thrown into his lap. “Hey, is Kageyama…” 

Something thick splashes into the bucket, held in Kageyama’s shaky hands. Vomit pours out of him like a faucet, a wave of nausea set off by the sharp motion. Sugawara’s hand rests on Kageyama’s back, rubbing up and down at a comforting pace. 

“Everything’s gonna be okay soon.” Sugawara says. Kageyama heaves once more in response. 

Nobody complains once, even though Kageyama is sure they’re disgusted and annoyed at him. He can’t stop feeling nauseous, and nobody likes to be in a cramped vehicle while hearing their teammate heave their guts up. 

“Try and rinse your mouth. Drink some water if you feel like it.” Daichi hands Kageyama an uncapped bottle of cold water, and Kageyama fumbles for it, pressing it to his lips. 

No sooner than the cold water hits his tongue, a thin, clear stream of vomit splatters into the bucket. And he feels truly spent, but empty enough to stop throwing up. Sugawara lets out a yelp of worry, but Kageyama rinses his mouth and gulps some water down to ease the pain of his scraped throat. 

“Feel any better, Kageyama?” Sugawara asks, with the care of a concerned parent. 

“Don’t know,” Kageyama groans, turning his head away from the bucket. “My stomach hurts. And I feel sick.” 

Something tells Sugawara that this is going to be a long ride. 


	12. Akaashi and Kenma, sickfic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> from ask box on tumblr!
> 
> A request if it’s not too specific: at a joint practice between Nekoma and Fukurodani, Kenma and Akaashi both fall ill. Cue caring Kuroken and BokuAka with the usually goofy Kuroo and Bokuto being concerned and serious for once. Bonus points if: Kenma calls Kuroo “Kuro” and is embarrassed about getting sick in front of everyone; Kuroo is reassuring and calls Kenma kitten; and Bokuto is adorkably worried about Akaashi and is falling over himself trying to do anything to help. No worries if not x

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HI OH MY GOD IT'S BEEN A RIDICULOUSLY LONG TIME. Sorryyyyyyyy.

Sweat drips onto the court, as the ball goes up and is spiked on the opposite side. A shout of victory comes from Fukurodani, as Bokuto high-fives Akaashi. “Did you see my super sharp line shot, Akaashi?!” He exclaims, as Akaashi acknowledges him and nods. 

“Damn it, his spikes are in top form today.” Kuroo groans, arms growing red from the receives he’s been doing. “Can’t the guy go into emo mode already?” 

“We gotta work for that. Kenma, any ideas?” Yaku turns to Kenma, who looks a little spaced-out. 

Kenma glances at Yaku, and opens his mouth slowly. “Uh… We could aim for Bokuto-san more so he’d have to receive instead of spike.” He suggests, his arm discreetly pressing to his stomach. 

To tell the truth, Kenma had been feeling off since the practice match had started. Granted, his stamina is far from the best. But this is strange, even for him. He glances at Kuroo, who notices something off. 

“You look a bit out of it, Kenma. Is something wrong?” Kuroo asks him straightforwardly, and Kenma ends up shaking his head. His stomach and throat feels a little weird, but it’s not enough for him to sit out. He can still move around and get his head to churn out strategies. 

The only thing that’s churning is his stomach, Kenma thinks ruefully. There’s a distinct heaviness in his stomach, that has a slightly sharp edge to it. He feels it gurgle when he throws a toss up to Yamamoto, but it’s much too loud in the court for anyone to notice. 

As soon as the spike goes in, Kenma’s mouth fills with watery spit. The unexpected event leaves him confused, as he swallows it down and continues to play. He notices Kuroo and Yaku stare at him for a moment, and for a split second, he wishes he’d told Kuroo he was feeling sick. 

Stopping the game will draw attention to himself, and Kenma doesn’t want that. It’ll be Fukurodani’s match point in another two points, and he hopes that they could hurry up and get the set over with. Then, he can disappear quietly out of the court. 

“Kenma!” 

Kuroo receives the ball, and Kenma knows he’s in perfect position to set it to anyone. He scans the court with his tired eyes, until a strong wave of nausea washes over him. He keeps his feet rooted to the ground, attempting to ride it out. It proves unsuccessful, when he pitches forward with a gurgle at the back of his throat. 

Kenma’s eyes widen. There’s no way he can throw up on the court, when everybody’s watching. There’s more than one person staring at him now, wondering what had happened to him. The ball is long forgotten, rolling away from his feet. 

“He looks like he’s gonna hurl.” Yamamoto says, eyeing him worriedly. 

Kuroo hurries beside him, but even he’s unsure of what to do in this sort of scenario. Nobody could have predicted this situation, where Kenma is two seconds away from losing his lunch all over the court. He reaches over to place his hand onto Kenma’s back, which only agitates him further. 

A quiet hiccup comes out of Kenma’s mouth. His stomach clenches, and something warm shifts up to his throat. He covers his mouth in a futile attempt to hold everything in. With a foul-tasting burp, a slurry of vomit pours out of his mouth, and in between his fingers. The entire court is thrown into disarray. Kenma wants to run out sobbing, but his stomach hurts too much and he feels like he’s about to be sick again. There’s a gentle hand on his back, rubbing circles. It’s Kuroo. 

“Someone, get a mop! And some water!” Kuroo yells, and the other third years hurry away to help them out. Kenma coughs up another splatter of vomit, not knowing what to do with his soiled hands. 

“Kuro… I don’t feel good.” Kenma sobs, in between weak heaves that only bring up clear liquid. Kuroo comforts him through the vomiting, guiding him away from the puddle forming beside him. 

Kuroo sits him down at the sidelines, grabbing a towel to wipe his hands and face. “I know, kitten. Just relax a little, and I’ll handle the rest.” He takes a plastic bag and places it into Kenma’s lap, in case he feels nauseous again. 

After Kenma gets whisked away to the infirmary, the match restarts on a different court. Bokuto picks up his pace quickly, while Nekoma is at a disadvantage with their setter gone. Despite this, his spikes lack the usual power and control. 

For once, it’s not Bokuto’s emo mode. Even Bokuto himself can tell the tosses are weird. “Akaashi, you okay?” He asks, grabbing Akaashi’s hands. “You’re not hurt, are you?” 

Akaashi shakes his head. He’s sweating, but there’s still a pale tint to his skin. It doesn’t take long for Bokuto to put two and two together. 

“Are you feeling sick?” 

Akaashi almost immediately shakes his head. “I’m probably just shaken up,” he murmurs, hand ghosting over his stomach. “I’ll be fine.” 

Bokuto nods hesitantly, keeping an eye on Akaashi as he resumes spiking. But with every toss that Akaashi sends, his expression becomes increasingly pained. 

When Bokuto extends a hand to forcibly drag Akaashi off the court, it’s pushed away. 

“Hey, Akaashi!” He calls out, but Akaashi turns around and dashes off the court. Bokuto shares a glance with his teammates. “I’m gonna check on him!” He follows in Akaashi’s footsteps without wasting a moment. He shouldn’t have gone that far. 

It doesn’t take long for Bokuto to find Akaashi. He’s hunched over the taps, breathing harshly. It’s a sign that something is very, very wrong. Akaashi is never hunched. 

“Akaashi.” Bokuto gets a flinch in response. Akaashi had been too out of it to even register him coming close. “Where does it hurt? You feel like you’re gonna be sick?” 

Akaashi gags, but nothing comes up. Bokuto peers into his face, and finds that he’s actually  _ crying.  _

“I felt sick for a while after the match started,” Akaashi admits, rubbing his stomach with one hand. “I’m sorry for interrupting the game.” 

Bokuto caresses Akaashi’s hair softly. “Hey, none of that, now.” He rubs Akaashi’s cheeks with his thumbs, reassuring him. “It’s just us two here. It’s okay if you need to throw up.” 

Bokuto shifts his arm to wrap around Akaashi’s middle. He can feel his stomach gurgling, and wonders how Akaashi had toughed it out for so long. He makes gentle circles with his palm, rubbing the tension out from his stomach. 

A weak, silent heave rips out of Akaashi, his stomach contracting under Bokuto’s palm. Only a few drops of spit spill past his lips, but it’s clear that something in his stomach needs to get out. Bokuto adds some pressure to his hand, pressing against Akaashi through his clothes. 

That had seemed to do the trick. With a choked gurgle, a rush of sickness splatters into the sink. There’s no holding back now, wave after wave of nausea hitting Akaashi until his entire frame trembles. 

“There we go. It’s okay.” Bokuto shushes Akaashi, keeping his touches tender. Akaashi throws up with a painful retch, tears dripping down into the sink below. His stomach cramps with the force of the vomiting. Only pale liquid comes up after four or five heaves. 

Bokuto rubs his back as he dry gags, turning the taps on to wash the vomit away. “Let’s get you to the infirmary, okay? He says, as Akaashi scoops some water in his palms to wash out his mouth. 

Akaashi nods, too exhausted to argue. “Thank you for comforting me, Bokuto-san.” 

When they reach the infirmary, Kuroo is there with Kenma, rubbing his back as he whimpers into his shoulder. “Akaashi’s sick too?” Kuroo asks, and Kenma glances at the two momentarily before he resumes leaning into Kuroo. 

“Yep. It’s probably a good idea to have this match another day.” Bokuto shrugs, patting Akaashi’s back. “Our two setters weren’t feeling good.” 

Akaashi sits down on the bed, with Bokuto beside him ruffling his hair. “And the captains ditched the game to take care of us.” He adds, smiling. 

“And I’ll do it again if I need to!” Bokuto hugs Akaashi hard, momentarily forgetting that he had thrown up a few minutes prior. There’s a shared warmth between the four of them, as they sit huddled together. 

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Haikyuu!! tripping over your words, Part 1](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22512487) by [Nautilus_Daixy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nautilus_Daixy/pseuds/Nautilus_Daixy)
  * [Haikyuu!! tripping over your words, Part 2](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22532839) by [Nautilus_Daixy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nautilus_Daixy/pseuds/Nautilus_Daixy)


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